Archive for the 'Sports' Category

JUNE 26, 2013 UPDATE! Yes, ALL pools open tomorrow including McCarren Park Pool. They are free for all and you don’t even need I.D to visit them (just a padlock and a bathing suit!) Read further for a link to all NYC public pools and more info…

In a city where the relentless wheel of gentrification seems to tirelessly and remorselessly roll on, its public pools are an especially welcome relief.

Open for business on June 29 (must be a budget thing since lord knows they’d have been welcome weeks if not months ago), they’re just one great freebie in a town that does more for its non-yuppie population than some might realize.

Open from 11am-7pm daily, the pools all have strict, draconian rules that one MUST abide by if they wish to participate (no cell phones or other electronics on deck and mandatory possession of a padlock are the two biggest) and they close from 3-4pm each day for cleaning. Basically, that’s all you need to know.

A comprehensive list of the cities’ pools, conveniently listed by borough, has a phone number for each so if you’re a lap swimmer you may want to call ahead and get the times when it’s roped off for lapping. At any other time you will find swimming around the masses of frolicking kids and their moms a tad challenging, if possible at all.

Who frequents the pools? Well, it’s worth noting that the first two weekdays I arrived I was the only cracker in the vicinity, with the exception of a lifeguard. This changed my first weekend day but generally Whitey is in the minority here, even at the UES pool discussed below.

Some may take offense at me mentioning this but it’s a concrete detail, a real aspect of the pool and its environment and something that may make the sensitive or panty-waisted uncomfortable, just as one might be if the other swimmers were all Orthodox Jews or Hispanic. It’s basic human nature: We feel vulnerable and self-conscious when we’re different from everyone else. This of course doesn’t bother SuperDuperDad in the slightest, since he is an intrepid explorer and courageous adventurer, but hey, you might be a complete wimpster.

I’ve been to several of the city’s free and open public pools but the one I’m referring to is in Commodore Barry Park, which is between Flushing and Park Ave. in Clinton Hill, and the one now closest to my apartment.

In the past I’ve enjoyed the Red Hook Recreation Area pool, a giant sprawling city block of a space where, according to the city’s website, legendary gangster Al Capone began his career. Having to get in the car and hit the forever traffic-snarled BQE was always a con, but since I was dating a barista at the deeply missed Lonelyville Cafe in Park Slope, I was in the area fairly frequently anyway.

Nestled on the Upper East Side mere feet from my Dad’s apartment and the FDR, John Jay Park’s got a superb albeit smaller pool, plus a swell park with sandbox adjoining it. The diving board also adds tremendous fun.

As for Commodore Barry Park…

Well, when it comes to pools, proximity is the number one draw in my book and the CBP is perfectly placed at the 2 mile mark of my running route. Actually, true perfection would be if it were at the END of my run but since it’s about 2 miles from the SuperDuperDad Manor, where I of course like to end up, that would be difficult to achieve.

So on a scalding broiler like today I’ll hit the first 2 miles hard, knock out 3 sets of pull-ups in the small park on the way before diving into pure refreshment in the cool waters. On the way back I’ll often pop into Fresh Fanatic for an omelette and a superb Stumptown iced coffee before sauntering home, thoughtful and relaxed.

Today, as I trotted back across Park Avenue heading home, one of the hulking storage facilities on the block suddenly cast a shade over me and a soft breeze carried a touch of perfume, suddenly engulfing me in the reverie of a memory of a girl long gone. The breeze, the sun… all was just right and as I re-entered the land of Hasidim children with their cascading curls, staring at me as if I were an alien as I stretched my calves against a lamppost, I had to laugh.

I’ll always be an outcast. But if anyplace makes an outcast feel at home, it’s NYC.

Details: DON’T FORGET PADLOCK. And carrying it in plain sight helps facilitate entrance. Also don’t forget that all pools close from 3-4pm for cleaning. It IS possible to smuggle your phone in but if spotted you will be asked to leave.

Do you REALLY want to go all the way out to Red Bull Arena over in Bumfuck aka Harrison,NJ? And yes pretty much ALL of Jersey is Bumfuck (except possibly Hoboken, aka Yuppie Hell wth the exception of our beloved Maxwells where as a drunken, passion-filled youth I watched a drunken passion-filled Paul Westerberg of the Replacements swagger out gallons of sweat straight from HIS GODDAMN HEART…) and no, any other area of the Dirty Jerz is too dang far away to be cool so forget Red Hook or what have you.

Worth leaving Brooklyn for?

So really, when you think about it, the act of Leaving NY is quite a sizable litmus test to pass, in itself.

I mean, family gatherings, camping trips, the airport… there’s many perfectly acceptable reasons to cross a bridge or hop a train but unless the payback is deep and true… well myself and SuperDuperKid may have to pass. There’s just too damn much to do HERE.

SO…

Again, I ask, do you REALLY want to go to the Red Bull Arena?

Well, how much do you love soccer?

Because, you see, life is payment. And we pay in time, among other commodities.

So your payment for getting to the RBA is a 16-30 minute JMZ ride to the PATH train at 14th followed by a 40 minute or so ride to the Arena with a quick, cow-herd shuffle out the exit about four blocks to the stadium after which comes the short-lived but admittedly thrilling pizazz of stepping out the labyrinthine innards of the complex, where suddenly the sky opens up and the crowd is roaring and you can practically reach out and touch the excitement, so palpable and in your face it is until you suddenly find yourself in a loooooong sprawling line of equally deflated consumers waiting for a $4 hot dog and $7 cup of watery Coors to be served by weary, walking ads against over-eating and under-planning; living, breathing billboards against consumption of the very products you’re battling them to procure and by the time you get back to your seats your kid is gettting tired and Daaaaaad he wants to go home ’cause… ummm… well unless Pele, Beckham and errrm, well thats all we know, are out there performing stratospheric acts of gravity-defying genius with the crowd-pleasing showmanship of say, a Jordan or Ali… Well, soccer just ain’t all that to watch. And although that’s coming from a guy who admittedly was a life-long punk, a teenage counter-culture pipsqueak who gobbled up Abby Hoffman and Tom Robbins’ books, scoffed down Dylan, Clash and Husker Du albums, who spiked his hair and sneered at button-down jocks through the entirety of his high school career, he also eventually grew to identify and empathize with any man locked in mortal struggle, lunging forward with every spec of burning desire in his body to just, only, even if this once and never ever again…WIN!

Can't wait until I grow up and experience watery Coors...

So yeah I can appreciate sports and my kid LOVES soccer and in fact it was a momentous day marking SDK’s first ever goal (!), a major occasion for any kid, but nonetheless live soccer in is a different matter altogether. This particular game was not exactly a thrill-a-minute rev-em-up blowout and so the limited attention spans of many of the kids’ present began to drift after the first twenty minutes or so.

So exhausted was the lad after the long journey back on the PATH that by the time we hit 14th street we had to grab a cab made even more pricey by my driver’s odd choice of route, cruising down 6th avenue all the way to Grand St to the Williamsburg Bridge, an inexplicable bypassing of the superior Houston St. method, in my opinion. The entertainment provided by his bizarre self-mumbling was little consolation.

Tried it. Took that trip the previous year and traffic out the city to Harrison was not pretty but a walk in the freakin’ park compared to the patience-pummeling gridlock that one faces in the twisting, endless snake-like maze of the parking garage that empties in slow, syrup-like dribs and drabs at the game’s end.

Check the website for full ticket price. As part of the GWYSL, myself and the dozens of other parents who attended got a block discount but for ya’ll civilians you’re lookin at at least a triple-Hamilton beat-down for some nose-bleeders once those villianous fees are added in. And thats without the inevitable food and transport costs.

But as many of us know there are some things in life that justify their cost.

Hell, I dropped $400 on third row tickets for SDK and I to see Prince at the Garden not long ago. So, maybe live soccer is worth the cost for you.

Me? I’ll stick with Rasberry Beret and the L train.

Official SuperDuperDad Yay or Nay Verdict: It’s yer funeral, pal.

Details: Parking at one of those ginormous complexes a couple blocks from the stadium is $7 – 10 but when all is said and done, train is easier/better experience since as stated in review it takes a LONG-ASS time to get your car out in the end. That said, it is apparently possible to find parking on the surrounding streets, as our (undefeated, hrmph) soccer coach did. The PATH train though is still your best bet and is easily accessible from the 33rd St and 14th St subway stops in the city, among others. Games start on time. Get food/beer EARLY or be ready for the lines. Website states that a “modest” amount of outside food is allowed in as are water bottles though they remove your cap before entry for some reason. Check website FAQ for more.

It was Saturday afternoon in Brooklyn, NY and so came another triumph for the Mutant Gorillas, my son’s youth league soccer team. They are undefeated so far this year, a tad bittersweet for me since when SuperDuperDad was coach last season we were ummm… what’s the opposite of undefeated?

Eh, anyway, after his game we decided to follow his grandmother and step-granpa’s NY Times procured-advice and visit the newly opened Smorgasburg, a giant outdoor greenmarket/gourmet food emporium happening every Saturday in Williamsburg, down by that industrial graveyard-cum-condoville/park sprawl by the water. They had come all the way from the Upper East Side to see his game, so we wanted to be accommodating.

Not too many surprises here. In gentrified Brooklyn, top notch morsels are par for the course. Vietnamese crepes, organic grilled-cheeses, whole grain mustards, world famous gazpacho, hand-pulled mozzarella and even Harvard-educated organic lobsters (Okay, I made up the last one)… Jeez, I tell ya. This goddamn food has accomplished more in its short life span than I have, and it’s probably earning more too. Basically, anything edible you can dream of is here, mostly being cooked before your eyes in the rows and rows of dainty lil’ stalls that the vendors occupy. And it’s all done with the skill and sophistication that one expects in NYC.

SuperDuperKid’s grilled-cheese sandwich from the good people at Milk Truck was a bit too “uptown for the tots” as Sideshow Bob once famously declared on the Simpsons, with the complex blend of cheeses leaving his simplistic taste buds overwhelmed. The vanilla milkshake, however, was obliterated in seconds as we sat on a bench in the sprawling promenade, admiring the gleaming, new condos and dreaming of a day when we could afford one.

My mom asked SDK about his mother being pregnant…

How was it going? Was he excited?

Now I was not here for this but she claims he seemed uncomfortable with the subject. “Something,” she said, leaning forward and taking on her Tone of Great Importance, “is bothering him about it.”

I shall leave my in depth look at some of these issues until later for my soon to be launched “personal” category on SuperDuperDad.com, but suffice it to say there’s always some drama going on with the Baby Mama, whom I am no longer with. We left in agreement that the concept of his mother’s pregnancy needed to be brought up with him again soon in the future and discussed more openly.

East River Park’ll make ya… Jump! Jump!

It was too nice a day for such dealings and we decided to hoof it a few blocks over to East River State Park. Oddly barren, but with a beautiful view of the water and some refreshingly unique playground fixtures, it’s definitely worth a visit.

There’s a giant two-kid see-saw styled rope hang that the lil’ ones find simply fascinating plus some interesting bouncy spring-boards and choo-choo train contraptions good for playing tag on. Info-boards line the walk to the water so one can learn about the area’s intriguing industrial history. In place of boat and train shipments with coal and other minerals, we now have kids, condos and bearded bicyclists of all shapes and sizes. And so time marches on for Brooklyn.

Official SuperDuperDad Yay or Nay Verdict: Eh, I could go either way, honestly. If you’re a foodie, you’ll be in friggin’ paradise. Park is fun but don’t sell your kidney to get there or anything.

Details: C’mon… I can’t do ALL the work for ya! But YES for those asking it’s not too difficult to park outside along Kent Ave. Parking smack dab on N8th st. is a bit more challenging but Kent is close enough anyhow. It’s also about a 15 minute walk from the Bedford L stop.

Enter Streb Lab For Action Mechanics aka SLAM aka STREB aka a pretty damn awesome dance/acrobatics/trapeze spot for athletic folks of all ages. It’s the invention of Elizabeth Streb, a female Lou Reed look-alike who in fact embodies quite a bit of that same edgy NYC art-punk ethos. Unlike Lou, however, she has taken an industrial warehouse space by Billburg’s waterfront and created a hip scene centered on her forward thinking, avante-garde dance principles.

So what exactly happens at STREB?

Humans fly through the air from rocket-propelled springboards, flip over, under and around a perilously spinning ladder mounted on a ferris wheel-like axle, hurl themselves at breakneck speeds into clear slabs of plastic just inches from your face and leap again and again off 30, 40, and 50 foot high precipices, smacking satisfyingly onto glacier-thick mats. These are just some of the many scenes one can witness at one of their joyous and high-energy public performances.

It’s all done to spooky, funky audio and visuals, adding up to a kind of spectacle you haven’t quite seen before, one that values fun and experimentation as much as it does physical rigor and activity.

Even home improvement is fun and inventive at STREB!

Ms. Streb’s open-minded approach doesn’t stop with the actual dance routine’s either. Her talk of creating a new “cultural paradigm” extends even to the companies most basic policies. For example, the space is never closed to the public and, aside from the infrequent paid shows, anyone can pop in to watch classes or rehearsals at any time during working hours.

Things move fast at S.L.A.M...

The shows themselves are also pretty open-ended with plenty of whooping and hollering and general encouragement for the audience to have fun too. And the KIDACTION classes follow suit. SuperDuperKid has taken part on and off for years and just plain loves ’em. I’ve barely parked the SuperDuperDad-Mobile before he’s bolting from the back, shaking free his socks and sneakers to frolic with his friends on the giant mats laid out invitingly all over the space. His classes are every Thursday, and serve as a perfect avenue for him to let loose some post-school energy. Right as they end, the space starts filling with attractive young(ish) adults who take more advanced classes, each seemingly ready to shake off the stress accumulated from cubicles and offices throughout the day.

All rates and information are listed below as well as on the STREB website. At about $325 for 16 weekly hour-long sessions it’s pretty reasonable. The performances are also definitely worth catching, especially if you’ve never seen one before. It’s packed with energy, fun and plenty of visceral thrills, a true Brooklyn experience.

Official SuperDuperDad Yay or Nay Verdict: YAY!

Details: STREB is incredibly approachable in every way so feel free to simply pop in and check it out. You can ask an instructor questions to gauge the best class for yourself of your child.

Kid Class Info:

KID ACTION + KID FLY

KID ACTION reflects the high energy, fast-paced movement that kids experience all around them everyday, and this is why Elizabeth Streb’s work is of particular interest to young people, who are continually testing the limits of their physical universe. Based on the principles of POPACTION, young action engineers will be intrigued by the vigorous exploration of impact, velocity and the defiance of gravity through a combination of physical conditioning, daredevil stunts action, acrobatics and aerial arts.

KID FLY invites kids 5 and up to come develop their Flying Trapeze skills. All participants are evaluated individually, and are taught at their own pace by our trained instructors. For more experienced flyers, the ESPANA-STREB TRAPEZE ACADEMY allows you to work more intensively on specific tricks to master the ones you know, and learn the ones you dream of doing. Our team of instructors can help you achieve class goals by giving you tips and techniques to improve your form and personal style. The instructors have varied backgrounds but all are focused on safety and ensuring the students have a great experience.

Minutes later, a large group of us were standing in stunned shock in front of “Dyan,” our pretty, charismatic instructor, as tears poured down her cheeks.

“I cry a lot,” she had warned before diving into a heartfelt soliloquy about the challenges in her life and how she refused to settle any longer. “I just can’t do this anymore!” she implored, reenacting a discussion she’d had with her boss earlier in the week.

As a modern urban hetero male I was of course torn between being horrified and driven to uncontrollable laughter. I looked around at the sea of empathetic women, their big eyes welling up with tears of understanding (there were two other men in the class besides me- One who smiled adoringly in my direction and the other, the token black dude who watched impassively.) Was I the only one who found this to be reminiscent of a hilarious scene from a Woody Allen film?

Soon, though, Diane was imploring us to “shake it all out,” and know that we were strong and bellowing loudly that nothing could stop us, and we could do this, and we were worth it, and so forth.

“I can do it, I WILL do it… I”M HAPPY WITH MY LIFE!”

Rhyming exhortations were parroted back in rhythm from the bobbing, lurching class, in a military style, as our tireless leader barreled on only semi-audibly over the blaring techno-dance soundtrack about overcoming struggles and battling the hardships of (presumably) being a young woman in New York City.

YOU can DO IT!

It was great fun. I found it particularly relevant as I was just beginning to deal with a new set of issues regarding my return to the music biz and I really wasn’t sure I could pull off what I needed to. Plus, I’ve always been a fan of all that “positivity” schtick so integrating it with movement and exercise made perfect sense.

By the end of the workout I was surprised to find myself dripping with sweat. The lunges, swivels and dance moves didn’t feel so strenuous on their own, but the overall program definitely seemed to pack a punch.

And at free hundred dollars, it’s a pretty sweet deal. In a related aside, the Metropolitan Rec Center’s membership is a paltry $75 for an entire year of swimming and indoor gym use, among other perks ($50 without pool.)
It’s unbeatable in New York City. But regardless, the Shape Up NYC Programs are completely free ane one needn’t be a member of the facility hosting it to take part. Hunt down the program nearest you and try something different today. You’re strong, worth it, and you can DO IT!

Official SuperDuperDad Yay or Nay Verdict: YAY! YAY! YAY! YAY!

Details: Check link above but details are scarce: It’s fun and free is all you need to know.

Assuming you’re male (not to prejudge ALL women, but our penis-less friends generally don’t seem as interested in shooting things although they are of course fairly impossible to fathom and I wouldn’t even begin to try and enter the labyrinthine psyche that is Womanhood) and assuming you’re heterosexual (again, not to stereotype -he says while doing so- but there seems to be a great dearth of your common homegrown USA-style bullshit machismo in our limper-wristed, better smelling brothers)…

Well, then assuming all this, my male hetero-brethren, you KNOW you’re dying to go tromping through the mud blasting stinging balls of toxic goop at the groins and faces of your family members and loved ones.

I sure as hell knew my little guy would be. He’s fairly obsessed with executing soldiers of all shapes, sizes and nationalities in Call of Duty on Xbox (yes, I’m highly torn about this… don’t get me started!) but doing it at least semi for-real is of course a whole different matter.

We went to cash in our $50 of Groupon at the Staten Island branch of Cousins Paintball on that gorgeous last day of our public school’s spring break, what with me wanting to give the lil’ guy a special treat he’d really enjoy before returning him to the grueling rigors of Brooklyn Public School. The mood that morning, I imagined, held something different than the standard busy weekend-morn would have. There was a laid-back almost mid-summer vibe as the blinged out, hip hop-lite kids of Shaolin filled up the peaceful backyard staging area before entering battle.

Of course, urban outer-borough teens ranging from 7-16 years of age (Groupon’s 10 year old minimum requirement is apparently enforced by the same people who enforce the “No Ice Cream Truck Music while parked for 20 minutes Outside Your Building” law) means several things but one major thing in particular: Language. And when I say “Language,” I mean, “LANGUAGE.”

Uh... sure you can skip your homework tonight, son!

I mean, SuperDuperKid’s mom could make a drunken sailor blush, seeing how she teaches in a rough school just south of Broadway in the non-trendy section of Williamsburg. Still, there’s something about teens just beginning to open up and explore all the far-reaching nooks and crannies of their newfound world of profanity that rendered their particular slant on it new and intriguing for SDK.

It was definitely an “oy vey” situation, especially for a dad like me who is often heard to blurt out, “Son of a mother-loving birch!” rather than curse in front of my son all the time. I just don’t like admonishing him to do something while I repeatedly do the opposite, even though I feel that of course there is a place for cussin’ in the adult lexicon.

Still, it should be noted: Every single kid was courteous and pleasant, one 12 year old even inviting us to sit with his family when he saw we were not with a group.

To the meat of the matter: paintball at Cousins, as the kids put it, is “mad fun.”

Although I left with multiple welts, not realizing until it was too late that one was supposed to exit after being shot, I had a great time ducking, dodging and strafing 14 year olds with the blistering pellets. And of course, SDK was in heaven, traipsing about the makeshift war-zones, strewn with bunkers and shelter, as he fired round after round at complete strangers.

The only thing to mar our visit, and it was no small matter, was that Cousins’ ran out of the CO2 the weapons use to propel their ammo. The rag-tag assemblage of employees claimed a new shipment was arriving any minute (probably, possibly, supposedly) but after several hours of hanging out enjoying the lovely weather (and the not-so-lovely porta-johns), we were told, along with dozens of other customers, to get a refund and return another day.

To their credit, the mostly personable and not-as-gormless-as you’d expect post-teens who run the place were genuinely apologetic. Nonetheless it was disappointing to play a few games and then end so soon. We were given back our Groupons, which meant we’d essentially been given two sessions for the (half) price of one, not a bad deal. And next time we’d be veterans, battle-hardened and strategically primed.

So after placing a call to insure the Co2 level is up to par, I can highly recommend you hop onto the BQE and head on over to Cousins for some thrilling paintball. I really can’t think of any more enjoyable way to blend pleasure and pain (in a kid-friendly way, that is.)

You’ll have a foul-mouthed blast! Unless, of course, you’re a woman or gay.

Official SuperDuperDad Yay or Nay Verdict: Definite yay but you should absolutely call first to confirm they’re fully stocked with Co2!

Details: Kids will want to wear at least one thick layer of clothing all around to protect from the stinging paintballs. It can cause welts and is certainly more painful than a snap by a rubber band, despite what one employee claimed. Also it’s supposedly better with large groups.

This annual NYC outdoors event compresses all sorts of activities related to snowboarding, skiing, and general winter fun into one stimuli-packed day. Last year it was in Central Park and the year before it was in the little field where the FDR runs into Houston St. This year it was thankfully in Prospect Park, in our beloved borough of Brooklyn.

We missed last year’s but 09’s was indeed a textbook Unfun Day, with SuperDuperKid in tears from a too-tight boot-inflicted welt on his foot, which of course hit its peak of pain intensity right as we arrived at the site. On that fateful afternoon, after waiting in the kind of epic, soul-crushing lines that come with these type of events, we ended up scurrying through the blistering cold to battle for a cab on pedestrian-packed Houston St., weary and defeated.

This year started more promisingly since it was much closer to home. Still, as we awoke that morning I knew I had to pitch it hard since lately SDK had been a bit of a homebody, in no small part due to his new Xbox, his growing workload at school, and of course the chilly air.

It didn’t go well. What with teacher problems, spanish and guitar lessons, and the travails of kid life in general, come the weekend SuperDuperKid looked like a depleted 9 year old wall-street warrior, ready to put his feet up and leave it all behind. Plus he’d been one of many victims at his school of a mysterious flu-like sickness and so perhaps was not at full strength.

Taking advantage of a surprise sales call I had to take, he crept back into bed and was out cold for over an hour. The event started at eleven and I like to get there by 10:30, so I was already thrown off my game. We were further vexed when we finally made it out the house to find the Ol’ SuperDuperDad-mobile immobilized by the icy slush underneath her wheels. We eventually escaped with the help of some mexican construction workers nearby. (Was I supposed to tip or was this just some good-natured neighborly aid? I JUST DON’T KNOW.) By the time we got going it was after 1pm and a small but steady stream of icy rain was coming down.

After one of my astonishing feats of parking expertise, we entered the park at the corner of Lincoln Rd and Ocean Ave, right by the little playground where we’d had so many great games of tag and sweet italian ices in summers’ past.

Seeing the grounds blanketed with unfamiliar snow was cool and SDK immediately trekked out over the tundra to where some kids had made a fort of gigantic ice boulders. We began to see that our unintended scheduling troubles (as well as the inclement weather) were in fact a boon. Where there would normally be billowing lines of humanity was pure, sweet space and after enjoying the snow fort for a while we sauntered through the gates and deeper into the bowels of Winterjam 2011.

We passed all the vendor stalls, where groups and businesses like the New York Knicks, Dunkin Donuts and local ski resorts plied their wares, marching straight up to the waiver sign-up section. It was always a little annoying that once you waited to get inside you would then have to endure yet another line to sign the release form that made sure the city incurred no liability should you suffer death or serious injury at the hands of a runaway snowboard or a poisoned Starbucks sample. Anyway there was little point since SDK and I always take this as an opportunity to experiment and see just how ridiculous a fake name we can each come up with for the forms.

A quick perusal of the activity center made it clear that waiting for the waivers was a waste anyhow. The snowboarding center is really made for the neophyte. Who wants to wait two hours just to glide down 100 feet of barely steep hill? More entertainment was had watching the crazy jumps and tricks of the boarding pros on the gigantic ramp set up further into the park. There was also a fairly enjoyable trampoline performance going on.

All in all, we were lucky to find that bastion of winter-awesomeness that no parent should be without yet I foolishly had come unequipped with: The plastic snow-sled. (Snow disc? Snow shield?) Really, finding a broken one on the ground was the savior of the day as thereafter we took turns sledding down our own cool litle paths carved out in various little side-trails and crannies we found hiking through Prospect Park.

This got me thinking.

We ended up having a fantastic time, and it made me wish I’d come to BK’s own Central Park earlier in the winter. But I also realized that fun is not about Winterjam or lines or sleds or any thing like that but about the ability to keep that child-like outlook at any age and in any situation. By the time we started hiking through the park, away from the crowds, the generic rock-rap band, the endless promotions and spectacles, the event itself had become irrelevant. We had so much fun just hiking, sledding and snowball fighting that we were no longer interested. We always do. It’s because no matter where we are, we’re play-fighting with our made-up cartoon characters, laughing at how weird other people are or just sitting in awe of this crazy world around us.

Wintertime in NYC is enough for any city kid, as long as a sense of joy, curiosity and imagination are kept at hand. Bring these concepts wherever you go and you’ll always have a fabulous time and always be a SuperDuperDad (or Mom) yourself.

Official SuperDuperDad Yay or Nay Verdict: Yay(ish) but go on the later side and bring a sled!

Details: Be prepared for crowds, lines and all that goes with it in NYC.